


We Keep it a Secret (You Leave Me Dying to Know)

by bella_my_clarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: Bellamy doesn’t claim to be the greatest at dating, especially considering he’s been quietly in love with his best friend for the past six years, but hey, at least he’s been /trying/ to get over her.Not, of course, that this current situation is helping.Or: Bellamy just asked Clarke to fake being his girlfriend for one date, honest. But then things got a little...out of hand.





	We Keep it a Secret (You Leave Me Dying to Know)

**Author's Note:**

> Get ready for some Absolute. Nonsense.
> 
> ~also if you don't like Gina, first of all why, second of all you might not enjoy this lol~

 

Bellamy doesn’t claim to be the greatest at dating. Between basically raising his sister and working two jobs since he was sixteen, he didn’t have time for it until college, so he’s always felt a little behind everyone else when it comes to romance. Plus, he can’t seem to hold onto a relationship for more than a few months, probably because he’s been quietly in love with his best friend for the past six years, but hey, at least he’s _trying_ to get over her.

            Not, of course, that this current situation is helping.

            “Let me get this straight,” Clarke says, eyebrows furrowing cutely. “Gina invited you to a double date with her new boyfriend, you said you had a new girlfriend, and you want me to pretend to be said girlfriend?’

            Bellamy nods sheepishly. “I may have panicked.”

            “Not surprising, knowing you,” she teases, and he’s a little weirded out that she’s been so cool with this so far. He was sort of expecting her to kick his ass.

            “So, uh, you’ll do it?” he ventures after a moment of silence.

            She shrugs. “Yeah, sure. I’m always down to make your exes jealous.”

            Bellamy laughs and nods, though the point of this is far from making Gina jealous. She’s an awesome person, and was a great girlfriend for the three or four months they were together, but Bellamy doesn’t want her back in that way. He just wants to feel like he’s on top of life, like he’s getting better at this whole dating thing.

            Plus, acting like Clarke’s boyfriend is kind of his dream, even if it’s all for show. He’s going to take what he can get.

            They set up a backstory of how they got together—mutually pining for a while, Clarke getting drunk and accidentally confessing her love for Bellamy before giving him a quick kiss and running off, and Bellamy thinking it was a joke until he asked about it the next day. It’s believable, especially knowing how often they’ve each stumbled into relationships in the past, and it makes Bellamy’s stomach twist into all sorts of knots.

            “What about ground rules?” Clarke asks as she flicks through Netflix for something to watch. It’s good for their story that she’s already over a lot, but now Bellamy can’t help but feel a little awkward, as if he’s supposed to be acting like a boyfriend _now_ instead of at the date.

            “Like for what we tell Gina, or for us together?”

            “Both I guess, but I meant the second one.” He notices she’s careful to leave her eyes on the screen, but he can’t decipher if it’s discomfort or nonchalance towards the situation.

            “Well, when it comes to Gina, I guess just stick to the script. And when we’re at the date, just…I don’t know, act like a normal couple? Sit close together, maybe hold hands. I don’t know.”

            The thought of even that has Bellamy feeling a little lightheaded, so when Clarke adds, “What about kissing?” he swears his vision goes spotty for a second.

            “Uh—” he starts, a little strangled. “If the situation calls for it, I guess that’s fine. Though I doubt anyone’s going to expect us to make out in public.”

            “But pecks, cheek kisses, that sort of thing? You’re fine with that?”

            Her eyes still haven’t left the screen, but Bellamy catches her hand twitching, an old nervous habit. “If that’s okay with you,” he says slowly.

            She nods, finally turning to look at him. “You can’t be that bad of a kisser, right?”

            He snorts, feeling the tension drain away a little. “Horrible.”

            She smirks and clicks play on The Good Place, settling against his side like she always does. “Lucky me.”

            “Yeah,” Bellamy echoes, trying to school his heartbeat into something normal, “lucky you.”

 

Gina’s surprised and then excited when she sees who his ‘girlfriend’ is; she even goes so far as to hug her, raving about how glad she is they finally got together. Clarke gives him a look at that but doesn’t seem suspicious; they’ve always had friends think they have a thing for each other, this is nothing new.

            The boyfriend, Shawn, is tall and sort of plain looking, but seems nice enough. He shakes Bellamy’s hand and then Clarke’s, saying he’s a waiter but is working on an EP in his off time. Bellamy almost jokes about wanting his Spotify link, but thinks better of it.

            Once they’re in the restaurant, everyone orders quickly, too hungry for pickiness; Clarke gets a dish without fries and then proceeds to steal his, as always. He shoves her away, complaining, but when she does it again, he just turns the plate so the fries face her. She beams at him and he tries to suppress the overwhelming surge of affection rising in his throat, then remembers he’s not supposed to do that right now and leans down to kiss her hair instead.

            He can feel her flinch in surprise just the tiniest bit, but it must not be enough for the others to notice, because no trace of suspicion crosses their faces as he pulls away. In fact, Gina’s giving him one of those smiles she always gives Raven when she and Zeke are being cute, so he figures they’re all in the clear.

            Clarke does shimmy a little closer to him after that, though, seeming to remember her ulterior motive for being here. Not that he’s really complaining.

            Once they’ve finished eating and paid, they decide to just walk around town. It’s not particularly romantic, almost more of a hang-out, but the sudden overwhelming awareness Bellamy has of every miniscule interaction between him and Clarke makes it feel like he’s about to propose. Should he be walking extra close, or their normal distance? Are they supposed to be holding hands, or should he wrap his arm around her shoulder?

            Finally, he decides to just walk and see what Clarke does; a few seconds later, he feels her fingers slip quietly through his. Her hand is warm and soft, and when he squeezes it, she gives him a small smile.

            “So,” Gina says, glancing at their intertwined hands and making Bellamy flush, “how’d you guys start dating?”

            They’ve prepared for this much, at least. “We went to a bar one night after I had a bad day at work, just the two of us,” Clarke says. “Since I was the one wanting to drown my emotions, Bellamy volunteered to be the designated driver, which meant he got to sit there and watch me get drunker and drunker.”

            “It was very entertaining,” Bellamy adds.

            “Yeah, until I blurted out that I was in love with him.” Clarke laughs a little. “He literally froze; like, for a second I worried he’d stopped breathing. I didn’t know what to do, so I just pecked him on the mouth and ran to the bathroom.”

            Gina snorts. “That must’ve been an awkward car ride home.”

            “The most awkward I’ve ever had,” Bellamy agrees. “I assumed it was all a joke, though, except when I stopped by her apartment the next day and tried to bring it up, turns out it wasn’t. And here we are.”

            “Here we are,” Clarke echoes, squeezing his hand. He glances at her and finds her gaze unusually open, her mouth parted just barely. For a second, Bellamy thinks about kissing her for real, but he chickens out at the last second and presses his lips to her forehead instead.

            They wander around for another hour or so before Gina and Shawn have to leave. Gina says it was really nice to hang out and they should all do it again sometime; Bellamy mutters something politely noncommittal, then waits for them to be out of sight before he releases his hold on Clarke, wiping his hand on his pants awkwardly.

            “So,” he says, not sure what to say. “Should we, uh—”

            “Your place?” she asks, then adds quickly, “It’s still not that late; we could watch something on Netflix.”

            He sighs a little in relief. They’re okay then; there hasn’t been some horrible shift in their relationship because of this. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

            They watch Parks and Rec because they’re cliché and it’s a good show, and after a little bit Bellamy manages to loosen up and feel less awkward about sitting close to Clarke. He slouches a little so she can lean against his shoulder better, pinching her side so she stops hogging the blanket. It’s nice, really nice—which maybe isn’t a good thing. After spending several hours being affectionate the way he’s always wanted, it’s suddenly taking physical effort not to just turn his head and kiss her.

            He doesn’t, of course; not even when she’s walking out and says teasingly, “I had a really nice time tonight,” while leaning in with her sparkling eyes and sideways smile and shirt that’s shifted a little lower since she got here. Instead, he just gives her a hug and says goodbye, turning away before she’s even shut the door.

 

Only one of Bellamy’s friends is a morning person, and Monty knows never to call before nine unless it’s an emergency, so when he wakes up to his phone buzzing angrily just after six, he rushes to pick it up with more than mild panic.

            “What happ—”

            “BELLAMY BLAKE WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”

            Okay, so not Monty, and probably not an emergency. He sits up, wiping the sleep from his eyes with a groan. “What are you talking about, Raven?”

            “You and Clarke dating, you asshole!”

            Bellamy freezes like a kid stuck with his hand in the cookie jar. “Oh.”

            “Yeah, _oh_. Instead of hearing it from two of my best friends, who know how long I’ve been waiting for them to get their heads out of their asses, I had to hear it from your ex at 5:30 in the morning! She gets up _way_ too early, by the way.”

            Mind racing, Bellamy stands to pace around his room, trying to decide if he’s supposed to tell her the truth or not. He and Clarke didn’t set up much of a contingency plan for other people finding out, which was stupid in hindsight, but they’d kind of expected it to be a one and done thing. He definitely didn’t think Gina would _tell Raven about it._

            “I’m waiting,” Raven prompts, her voice slowly dropping from the initial scream.

            “Well, uh—” He pauses, then decides for the truth. His ass-kicking for this will be much less painful than the ass-kicking he’d get if he led her on. “We’re not actually dating.”

            He can almost see the shock cross her face. “What?”

            “We, uh—well, Gina wanted to go on a double date, and I told her Clarke and I—I told her I had a girlfriend, and Clarke volunteered to fill in. I mean, I asked her to, and she said yes. To fake, I mean.”

            A solid ten seconds passes with nothing but silence before Raven deadpans, “Are you fucking kidding me.”

            “I wouldn’t exactly lie if Clarke was my _real_ girlfriend,” Bellamy points out. “Yeah, it’s fake. We would’ve warned you beforehand, but we didn’t really think you’d hear about it.”

            Raven sighs. “Every time I think you two can’t shove your heads farther up your asses, you prove me wrong.” Bellamy tries to protest, but she cuts in, “I won’t tell Gina, by the way. This idiocy is for you guys to figure out on your own. And it is fucking idiotic, I hope you know that.”

            “I know,” Bellamy concedes, rubbing his forehead. “I really am sorry we didn’t tell you.”

            “You should feel sorry you didn’t ask Clarke out for real if you ask me.”

            “We’ve already been through this, I can’t just—”

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you don’t think she has the same feelings, you don’t want to hurt the friendship, you guys are shit at relationships. But just—think about it, okay? Especially if you guys have to keep this up. There’s only so much anyone can fake.”

            Bellamy bites his lip, but says, “I’ll think about it.”

            And he does, for several hours after they hang up, but it doesn’t really help. He’s still too terrified to confess his real feelings, but too far gone to get over her, so he’s stuck, yet again, in the middle—praying they don’t have to go on another fake date, but also really fucking hoping they do.

 

It’s no surprise he has some mixed feelings when Harper calls a few days later inviting him to hang out, adding nervously that Gina and her boyfriend will be going, too.

            Clarke doesn’t seem miffed by the idea of acting like his girlfriend again, though she does ask if they should tell everyone besides Gina if it’s fake or not.

            “I don’t know,” Bellamy says honestly. “They’ll be pissed if we don’t tell them, but some of them also can’t keep their mouths shut.”

            “It’s okay, you can just say Jasper,” Clarke teases, then shrugs. “Trying to contact them all sounds like a hassle, to be honest; we can just fill them in later, if Raven hasn’t already, and if they even notice a difference in how we act.”

            Bellamy’s traitorous heart swoops upwards in his chest at that, even as he tells himself that doesn’t mean anything. “Sounds good to me,” he says, hoping he sounds normal.

            “Me, too,” she replies, and that’s that.

            When they get to Harper’s house, the row of cars parked outside tells Bellamy most of their friends have already arrived. Bellamy contemplates if he should walk in holding Clarke’s hand, but it ends up not mattering because Clarke steamrolls ahead the moment they’re out of the car. Bellamy’s confused for about half a second before he realizes she’s greeting Harper’s dog Jordan, a Boxer who’s mostly just a tangle of limbs and love he’ll give anyone who calls his name. He’s also a little bit of a Houdini, which is why he’s managed to escape a fully gated house with no open doors.

            “Good to know I’m loved,” Bellamy huffs, mostly joking. He still bends down to give Jordan a scratch behind the ears and is rewarded with a wet, sticky kiss to the face.

            “Well, there’s your first kiss of the night,” Clarke teases, laughing as she coaxes Jordan back to the house (which isn’t hard, that dog would go anywhere she asked). Bellamy laughs, too, but in his head it sounds more like choked-off screams of confusion.

            Monty sees them first, waving and inviting them over to where a huddle of people are talking. The part of Bellamy that would rather hide in a corner with Clarke and Jordan and take a nap – which is basically all of him – wants to protest, but he loves his friends and wants to interact with them. Plus, Clarke’s already grabbing his hand and tugging him over, so there’s not really another choice.

            Gina, Shawn, and Harper are obviously present, along with Raven, Zeke, and Jasper, who looks like he would be willing to take Jordan as a date if it meant he weren’t the odd one out again. Bellamy and Clarke stand by him, trying to start up a conversation and make it seem like they’re just three single people stuck with couples and not another couple trying to include the fifth wheel. He talks about the chemistry project he’s put genuine blood, sweat, and tears into over the past few weeks and how there’s this really cute girl in one of his classes who’s his only motivation to go right now, and all is fine—until, at least, Gina walks over.

            “Hey,” Bellamy says as casually as he can muster, but his brain has shifted instantly into overdrive and he doesn’t even hear the word leave his mouth. Is he standing too far away from Clarke? Too close? Should their hands be at least brushing? Will Jasper think they’re dating if he does anything? Will Gina figure out the lie if they don’t act affectionate enough?

            Clarke leans into his side slightly, a move most would barely recognize, but Bellamy’s so attuned to her proximity to him even without an extra glamour to worry about that it feels like she just jumped over a river to stand by him. He leans back a little, letting their shoulders brush a little, and the immediately prick of comfort the contact gives him makes his cheeks grow warm. God, he’s so gone for this girl.

            “Hey,” Gina replies, as if this is all fine and normal and casual and she hasn’t both wrecked and perfected his life. “How are you guys?” Bellamy just nods in response, and Clarke gives a similarly nonchalant answer, so she grasps for another straw. “So, I was realizing, I kind of asked you guys how you got together, but I never even thought to—”

            She doesn’t have time to finish that new thought, though, because Jasper takes that moment to scream, “ _WHAT?! YOU GUYS ARE DATING?!?! YOU GUYS ARE **DATING** AND I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT IT?!?!_”

            Clarke glances worriedly at Bellamy for a moment –she was clearly hoping like he was they’d be able to skate by this without lying to anyone else – and then starts damage control. “Jasper, breathe. Breathe, dude.”

            “You guys didn’t tell him you were together?” Gina asks, surprised and a little sheepish.

            “We were going to—ah, tell him tonight,” Clarke says awkwardly. “We didn’t tell him before because, uh….”

            “Because I was hoping to put in some earplugs before we broke the news,” Bellamy cuts in, hoping to lighten the situation. It works; Gina laughs, and Jasper’s shoulders visibly relax.

            “I’m not that loud,” he grumbles, then adds, “But I _better_ hear about all this. You guys have broken a code of friendship by withholding this from me, I’m pretty sure. I coined your _ship name_ , guys.”

            “You guys have a ship name?” Gina asks, delighted again.

            “Bellarke,” Jasper says proudly. “It’s perfect, right?”

            “Totally. Shawn and my names don’t work together at all. I mean, what could you do? Shina? Gawn? I’d kill for Bellarke.”

            “I’d kill for them, too,” Jasper says, and they all laugh, which Bellamy is grateful for, because he needs a second to remember what breathing is. Clarke has her chin tucked up on his shoulder and her hand curled delicately around his bicep, and it’s doing weird things to his brain.

            As they explain their ‘secret relationship’ to Jasper and the others, Monty pulls out the alcohol, which Bellamy is equally in favor of and not in favor of. The positives: Clarke’s cute when she’s drunk and he doesn’t think so much. The negatives: _Clarke’s cute when she’s drunk and he doesn’t think so much_.

            Nevertheless, he drinks, because why the hell not at this point, and as the night goes on Clarke gets more and more affectionate. By the second hour, despite drinking water between each drink, Clarke’s tipsy enough to be smiling at everything, especially him, and she insists on being tucked into his chest when they’re sitting on the couch. It’s great, besides the fact that she keeps nosing into his collarbone on accident and he thinks he might actually die.

            In Clarke’s defense, she’s not the only one getting tipsy; with every swig he takes, Bellamy can feel some of his self-control ebbing away. When he makes a joke and Clarke scrunches up her nose cutely at him, he barely even hesitates before dropping a kiss on it, which makes Clarke giggle a little, and he keeps one hand anchored at her waist most of the night, too. It’s nothing crazy, nothing they can’t just awkwardly laugh off later – it’s not like he’s got his hand up her shirt or his tongue in her mouth or something – and honestly, it’s _nice_. Still Bellamy and Clarke, just a little looser.

            At least, until Gina has to ruin things _again_.

            (Seriously, there’s no way one woman can cause this much simultaneous terror and bliss for someone on accident, right? Like, this is three times now. Bellamy’s starting to think she’s a witch.)

            “Guys, we should play truth or dare,” she says excitedly, setting down her glass of water on the table. (Of course the bartender is staying sober to watch over her friends. Bellamy freaking loves that girl.)

            “What are we, seventeen?” Harper asks, but she seems interested.

            “Jasper might be,” Monty points out, and is promptly shoved.

            “Why not,” Clarke says, curling a little closer against Bellamy’s chest. He really hopes she either can’t hear the shift in his heartbeat or is too tipsy to care.

            “Yeah, whatever the hell you guys want,” Bellamy agrees.

            They start with Jasper and work their way around the circle; most of it is dumb shit, as expected, like asking about the most awkward place someone had sex or daring Raven to lick Zeke’s sweaty foot. But, _of course_ , when it gets to Clarke, Jasper has to change it up.

            “Truth or truth?” he asks, completely deadpan.

            Clarke frowns, her eyebrows furrowing cutely. Bellamy wants to kiss the spot between them, just above her nose, but resists the urge. “I’m pretty sure it’s truth or dare.”

            “Not for you. Truth or truth?”

            Clarke shrugs and says, “Fine. Truth.”

            Jasper grins. “What was your guys’ first real kiss like?”

            “We already told you about that,” Clarke says bemusedly. “I was drunk, I blabbed about how much I—”

            “No, no, no,” Jasper says, shaking his head like a professor who’s disappointed his top student has answered incorrectly on a simple answer. “Your first _real_ kiss. Where you were sober, and knew how the other person felt.”

            “Uh—” Clarke glances up at Bellamy. He nods slightly, giving her permission, and she gives him a small smile before turning back to the others. “So, obviously Bellamy stopped by my house to hang out, and when he was there, he asked about what happened the previous night. He was so incredibly awkward about it, too,” she says, pushing at his chest fondly. Bellamy rolls his eyes at her, which makes her grin and his heartrate double its speed. “He was all like, ‘Uh, so, uh, I was wondering, uh, about that thing, uh, with, uh, what you said, and, uh, what you, uh, you know, uh, did, and—’”

            She’s doing a horrible impression of his voice, and Bellamy pinches her side in protest. “I did not sound like that.”

            “You absolutely did,” she says proudly. “Anyway, when he finally gets it out, I can sort of get that he wants me to say I meant it, so I just tell him.”

            Bellamy scoffs. Maybe this story is fake, but he knows how he and Clarke work with relationships, and _forthright_ isn’t exactly a quality he’d use. “Yeah, if by ‘tell him’ you mean you dodged around the subject for like ten minutes until _I_ forced you to just say it.”

            “Details, details,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “Anyway, when I say it, he grins like some dumb lovestruck idiot—”

            “Which I am.”

            “And just grabs my face and kisses me.” Clarke pauses here a moment, and Bellamy wonders if she might be done, but when he looks at her, she’s looking back at him, smiling shyly and biting her lip a little, which, fuck, okay. Kill him on the spot, why don’t you, that’s fine. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that kiss,” she says, never looking away from him. “It’s like – okay, I’m gonna be sappy, but you asked for it, so – it’s like he was giving some grand speech, trying to tell me everything he felt without saying a word. Like he was kissing with his heart instead of his mouth.”

            There’s a moment of silence, and Bellamy is unable to look away from Clarke, to even _breathe_ ; he feels paralyzed, locked in place by the softness in her eyes and the slight part of her lips. She sounds so _genuine_ , like she’s thought about this, a lot even, and it makes him feel off-balance.

            Then Clarke leans in and presses her mouth to his, hand curling around his jaw, and his entire body short-circuits for a second, every nerve resetting to process only her. He touches her arm, trying to steady himself, and a moment or two later she pulls back, looking at him like she’s trying to memorize the moment.

            “Dayum,” Jasper crows, effectively killing the moment. “You guys really kiss like it’s your first time.”

            “Well, it is,” Clarke says, clearly without thinking; her eyes widen just barely upon realizing her mistake, but Bellamy’s already cutting in.

            “I always say kissing her is always new, like it’s the first time every time,” he says, finally breaking eye contact with Clarke to shrug nonchalantly. “It’s how I get back at her for being a giant sap.”

            “You started the sap thing, I don’t know why you pin that on me,” Clarke argues, giving him a quick look that says, _Thanks for saving our asses there._

            “You literally confessed your love for me while drunk because you, quote, ‘couldn’t stand me not knowing anymore.’ I’d say that’s pretty sappy.”

            “Whatever,” Clarke says, but she’s smiling, blushing even, and she hides it in his neck. He strokes her back affectionately and after a moment of murmurs about how disgustingly cute they are, the game continues. Bellamy doesn’t pay much attention, though; he focuses more on the blonde with her face nestled into his collarbone and the ever-present lump of feelings in his throat that’s becoming harder and harder to keep out.

 

After that, it sort of becomes a…thing. The news spreads to the rest of their close friends – Murphy collects bet money from Emori when they share the news, and Miller literally _punches_ Bellamy for not telling him sooner – and so the act spreads to basically any social situation they attend. Bellamy starts to get better at the whole showing physical affection without nearly having a heart attack thing, and he even manages to work up the courage to kiss Clarke a couple times. (On the _mouth_.) It becomes normal, easy even, and Bellamy thinks they could hold it long enough to properly stage a break-up, though he kind of wants it to go on forever.

            After a couple of weeks, someone asks them why they haven’t spent the night together in almost a month (Bellamy had crashed at Clarke’s a few weeks ago; it was because he was sick and she insisted, but no one needs to know that), and they claim it’s because they’ve just been busy. It so happens, though, that the upcoming weekend is wide open for them both, so they figure Clarke needs to stay the night at Bellamy’s to keep up appearances.

            She arrives early Saturday evening in her pajamas, which makes his heart clench oddly, and greets him with a beaming smile, which makes his heart stop entirely.

            “Hey,” Bellamy says, bringing her in for a quick side hug partly because he’s missed her (they really have been busy the last week, only hanging out once) and partly because her hair is in this messy lopsided bun with loose strands falling over her cheeks and he’s only so strong.

            “Hey, you,” she replies. “You wanna eat first, or just start?”

            “I ate just an hour or two ago. But if you need food—”

            “I ate pretty recently, too. But thanks.”

            “Okay, cool.” Bellamy pauses a moment, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He _hates_ how hard it is to act normal around her now, how normal being her boyfriend is starting to feel, and especially how possible it feels to just lean down and kiss her senseless.

            Thankfully, he does not do that, just follows her to the couch and turns on the TV to start the show. She curls up against him, eerily similar to how she’s been doing at social gatherings, but he dismisses it. They’ve _always_ been affectionate; he’s just a little (okay, a lot) more aware of it.

            Halfway through the third episode, Clarke says, “Hey, can I ask you about something?”

            Her tone tells him this is not a ‘talk while the episode plays’ kind of question, so he clicks pause and shifts to look at her better. “What’s up?”

            She opens her mouth, then closes it, her cheeks growing faintly pink—not a good start. “So, the other day, I was talking to Harper, and she…mentioned something. About us.”

            Bellamy frowns, wondering if their cover’s been blown or she had to make up some huge lie like that they’re secretly married or something. “What?”

            “She asked why—well, I mean, she didn’t _ask_ , not directly. She was just talking about her and Monty, and some of their, ah, favorite things to do, and wanted to know what I liked. I was sort of on the spot, and I didn’t want to say anything too crazy that you couldn’t easily corroborate, so I just said hickeys.”

            “Okay,” Bellamy says, managing to nod despite the word ‘hickeys’ bouncing around in his brain. “And?”

            “Well, and then she commented that I must be really good at covering them up, then, and I fumbled _again_ and said we just hadn’t…you know, done that recently, since we’ve been busy. And so she said I should make sure you give me one while we’re together.”

            “Oh.” Bellamy has lost all other vocabulary; his tongue feels like cotton. “Oh.”

            “It’s a mess,” she says, putting her head in her hands. “Being your girlfriend should not be this hard, why do I keep fucking it up?”

            “Hey,” Bellamy says, reaching over to stroke her back. “You’re not fucking it up.”

            She lifts her head to glare at him in protest. “First you had to save my ass at Harper’s party, and now she’s going to expect you to give me a _real fucking hickey_ because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, or at least say something I don’t have to prove.”

            “You could just say it didn’t happen this time?”

            “Yeah, but she’s going to expect one _sometime_. You and I have never been super subtle with our significant others.”

            That’s true; he’s seen Clarke with signs of love bites peeking out of her collar or under her hair, and Bellamy’s gone to work with turtlenecks to hide bright purple bruises of his own.

            It hits Bellamy then that they’re in deep with this now; they can’t just pass it off with some handholding and a couple of little pecks. (Even if those pecks make his heart roll over in excitement.) If they want to keep up this façade, they’re going to have to do something real—something like Bellamy giving his best friend an honest to God hickey in his living room.

            So he is thinking a _little_ when he blurts out, “So let’s do it then.”

            Clarke startles like a gun has gone off, almost physically scooting away from him in shock. “What?”

            He shrugs, trying to pass this off as casual. “Harper needs a hickey to prove we’re together, so you need a hickey.”

            Her lips part, which doesn’t help anything, and her eyes flutter a little, which _really_ doesn’t help anything. “You...you’d do that?”

            “Yeah, of course. What are friends for?” He immediately winces at that word choice. “I mean—”

            “I get it,” Clarke says, touching his arm lightly. Then she swallows and sits up straighter. “Okay then. Let’s do this.”

            “Uh, now?”

            She raises her eyebrow at him. “What, you want to set a thirty minute timer to prepare first?”

            “No, that’s fine. It’s probably best just to do it now, you know, while we still...you know.” _While I still have the brain cells left to physically move my mouth._

            “Yeah. Okay.” She’s getting more fidgety by the second, and Bellamy can tell she hates this waiting bit, so he decides to just get started. He swallows, wets his lips with his tongue a little, and brushes Clarke’s hair off her shoulder to expose her neck. She stiffens, but nods encouragingly, and he leans in before he can think himself out of this stupid decision.

            He doesn’t kiss her right away, though; just ghosts his lips over the junction between her shoulder and neck, trying not to go so fast it spooks her or doesn’t give her a chance to back out if she decides she’s too uncomfortable. His hands feel awkward hanging by his sides, so he sets those on her waist. She moves her own hands to his leg, probably feeling about the same as him, and tilts her head a little—permission to start whenever he’s ready.

            The first kiss Bellamy gives is soft, chaste, barely a touch, but he can feel Clarke’s muscles go rigid beneath him. He freezes, but she whispers, “It’s okay. I’m fine. Just…keep going. I’ll tell you if I need to stop.”

            “Okay,” he says, feeling his heart start to beat right out of his chest. “Okay.”

            He kisses her neck again, a little more confident this time, and starts working his way up, testing to see which spot she likes. If she has to get a hickey from someone she’s not attracted to, he at least wants her to enjoy it somewhat.

            When he reaches the spot just under her jaw, Clarke makes a tiny purring sound, and his hands spasm a little with the surge of want that courses through him. It’s maybe this, or perhaps the confidence that almost imperceptible sound of pleasure gives him, that inspires him to graze his teeth against the sensitive skin slightly.

            Clarke’s hand tightens on his knee, the other sliding up his thigh an inch. He wants to suck on that spot by her jaw until it’s nearly black, just to get her to do that again, but he wants her to be able to hide the mark easily if she wants, so he makes his way back down, open-mouth kissing the exposed skin until she’s shaking—from enjoyment or nerves, he’s not sure.

            Finally, he latches onto a spot near her throat, letting his tongue lave out to taste her, and she actually gasps, a tiny hitch of breath. It fucks with his mind a little, and he has to pause for a moment, letting his breath fan over her skin as he strokes his hands up and down her arms.

            When he starts again, one of her hands leaves his knee and finds its way into his hair, slipping into the curls and holding him against her. A jolt of pleasure shoots straight to his dick, but he tries to focus it into the hickey. He’ll probably never get to do this again, so he wants her to _remember it_ , no matter how selfish that might be.

            Too soon, the mark has fully formed, and after a few extra moments of stalling, Bellamy knows he needs to stop or Clarke will know how he really feels about this experience. With one last, chaste kiss, he pulls back; Clarke lets her hand fall from his hair, but doesn’t move the one on his thigh.

            “Um,” Bellamy says, not sure what to say. He just gave his best friend and secret love of his life a _hickey_. That really just happened.

            “Thanks,” Clarke says awkwardly; after a moment of silence, she bursts into laughter, and Bellamy follows suit, laughing until his stomach aches.

            “We good?” he says when they finally get a hold of themselves again.

            She nods firmly, holding his gaze to convey her genuineness. “Definitely.”

            “Okay. Good.” Then, lest he ruin that by crushing his mouth to hers and pushing her onto her back to kiss her until he can’t hold himself up anymore, he reaches for the remote and presses play. “We need to get through as many of these as possible; I hear Chidi gets a shirtless scene around episode five.”

            “You fool,” Clarke says, tucking herself against his side like nothing’s happened. “I’ve already seen every gif of that shirtless scene, _and_ the one where he wears a tiny t-shirt. You’re going to die.”

            “What a way to go,” Bellamy replies, but in his mind he’s thinking not of Chidi’s bare chest, but Clarke’s hand curling into his hair, holding him close.

 

Clarke falls asleep on the couch soon after they get caught up on the show, which he’s kind of grateful for, because he was secretly worried they’d end up sharing his bed and he would actually lose his mind. He tucks a blanket around her, taking a moment to brush the hair from her face. She looks so soft in sleep, even with her mouth open awkwardly and her arms thrown out haphazardly, he can’t but lean in and kiss her forehead, just a tiny press of lips to skin.

            He looks at her for a moment longer before he stands and goes to the bathroom, washing his face vigorously and getting ready for bed.

            He hopes to fall asleep quickly, but every time he closes his eyes he sees Clarke’s open gaze when he pulled away, feels her fingers scratching a tiny bit against his scalp, hears the half-concealed breathy sighs she let out whenever he went back to that one spot on her neck.

            More than ever, he wants to march up to her and tell her everything—how long he’s wanted her, how _much_ , how he can’t imagine ever loving someone else. But he can’t, so he just covers his face with his hands and tries to sleep.

 

Bellamy wakes up to rapid tapping on his door and sits up groggily, trying to wipe the sleep form his eyes. “Yeah?”

            Clarke peeks her head in, looking at him for just a second or two before she says, “What can we have for breakfast?”

            “First of all, you can have anything that’s not my roommates’ or the entire fridge,” Bellamy says. “Second of all, how the fuck are you up before me?”

            She shrugs. “I kept waking up, so when the clock read 10am, I figured I’d just stay awake.”

            Frowning, Bellamy stands, puts on his glasses – he’s too lazy for contacts if he doesn’t have to go anywhere – and asks, “You okay?”

            Clarke straightens at that, like he’s poked at something deeply personal. “Uh, yeah, totally. Just that image of hot Chidi floating around my brain, I guess.” She laughs unconvincingly, but Bellamy lets it slide; she looks uncomfortable, and he doesn’t want to push it.

            Even though Clarke claims she’d be fine with cereal, Bellamy makes her waffles; they’re her favorite. She piles them obscenely high with strawberries and whipped cream, but that doesn’t stop them from being gone before he’s even finished making one for himself. He always calls her Leslie Knope for that, though he also claims she’s half Ron Swanson, which is a weird combo in theory but it _works_ , okay? She’s dedicated and loving as hell, and when she gets on a rant you just have to wait it out, but she also hisses at the idea of healthy eating or talking to nearly anyone.

            (And okay, yes, Bellamy _does_ consider himself a little bit of a Ben Wyatt, but that doesn’t mean anything, okay? It doesn’t.)

            “I might have to rescind my statement about you not being allowed to eat the whole fridge,” he comments as he scrapes some butter onto his waffle and pours some syrup on the side to dip into.

            “Please do, I really want your leftovers,” she says, swallowing her last bite and standing to take care of her plate. “But seriously, thanks for the waffles. They were good.”

            “I’d hope so, or else you’re so starved for real food you’ll eat anything.”

            “That, too,” she grins, gathering her hair in her hand to pull into a messy bun, and then all Bellamy can do is stare, because there it is. On the lower half of her neck, reddish-purple and impossible to miss, is the hickey. _His_ hickey, from _his_ mouth, which _he_ gave.

            Clarke must notice him staring – how could she not, his jaw is practically dropped – because she says, “It look okay?”

            He kind of chokes on air for a second despite his best efforts, but manages to say, “Yeah. Yeah, it—it’ll definitely convince Harper, at least.”

            “And all my coworkers.”

            Bellamy winces, shame flooding into his system. “Sorry, I should’ve done it more discreet, I can help you cover—”

            “Bellamy, it’s fine. I can hide it at work, and when it comes to people like Harper, I kind of _want_ them to see, right? For the proof. You know, so it has a purpose.”

            Purpose. Right. It’s all for show, just a ruse, no feelings attached. He tries to burn that into his brain, but he doesn’t think it works. “Yeah, that makes sense. You want to shower?”

            “Nah, I’ll just shower tonight. I hate walking around with wet hair,” she says, and so despite the universe’s best efforts, life continues as usual.

 

If Bellamy were smart, he’d have expected the visit from Raven the next day, but he _is_ the guy who started a long-term fake relationship with the woman he wants a long-term _real_ relationship with and then gave her a hickey like bros do; he’s not exactly the epitome of intelligence when it comes to these things.

            So when there’s a rapid knocking on his door, he hardly expects it to be about Clarke at all—until, at least, he hears Raven screaming, “BELLAMY BLAKE, OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW SO I CAN KILL YOU _._ ”

            Despite this violent threat, Bellamy obliges, opening the door hastily for Raven to storm in, looking fucking _livid_.

            “Uh—” he starts, but he doesn’t know what to say to avoid getting shanked, so he just lifts his hands in defense.

            “You…fucking…idiot,” Raven wheezes, pointing her finger at him like a weapon.

            “I’m aware of that, yeah. What is this ab—oh,” he says, remembering again Clarke’s hair brushed off her shoulder and his breath on her neck and the red bruise like a beacon on her skin.

            “Yeah, _oh_. I have lived through weeks of you two being even bigger idiots than normal, with the handholding and the kissing and the cuddling and the sappy comments like they’re nothing, but a _hickey_ —”

            “Harper was suspicious as to why Clarke hadn’t had one despite liking them so much,” Bellamy protests. “She’d figure it out if we didn’t.”

            “And what’s so bad about that?” Raven demands.

            “We can’t just—” Bellamy cuts off, because he knows the truth. They could cut this off whenever they wanted, but he doesn’t want to. It’s selfish of him, horribly so, but he wants this thing with Clarke to last as long as possible. She’s just following his lead because she’s a good friend, and he’s dragging her along because of his stupid fucking crush.

            Raven must see this in his eyes, because her posture relaxes a little and her brows unfurrow. “Why can’t you believe she might like you back?”

            Bellamy sighs heavily and collapses on the couch, tears starting to build up in his eyes for no reason. “It’s—she’s _Clarke_ , Raven. We’ve known each other for seven years and been best friends for nearly that long. If something was going to happen, it would’ve by now.”

            “Okay, you know that’s not how it works,” Raven says, moving to stand in front of him and crossing her arms. “Come on, Blake, you really can’t see how she looks at you?”

            “It’s like she looks at everybody,” he protests, but his voice is weak. That little part of him that believes Clarke could love him back, it’ll listen to anything if it gives him hope. He basically breathes the stuff.

            “Bellamy, she looks at you like you hung the fucking moon. And not just that—she can’t seem to _stop_ looking at you. Any moment you’re looking away, she’s watching you, memorizing every expression, every feature, every freckle. It’s like she’s incapable of spending five minutes without visibly expressing how much she loves you.”

            Bellamy’s heart jumps into his throat at that last phrase; he swallows it back down, hard. “Even if—no matter how you think she feels, or how she acts, I can’t…I can’t risk that, Raven. It’d be one thing to risk our friendship by telling her how I feel in a normal circumstance, but _now?_ She’ll hate me for leading her on. She’ll never talk to me again. I can survive her not loving me back, but I can’t survive her not being here at all.”

            And it’s dramatic, but that’s truly how it feels—if he doesn’t have Clarke, he thinks a vital part of him will go with her, something he can never replace or function without. Maybe it’s unhealthy, but he _needs_ her.

            Raven sighs, then squats in front of him, setting her hands on his knees. “I know how much you guys love each other, romantic or not. You’re stronger than any shit life has thrown at you, and if Clarke can survive you dating _Echo_ —”

            “Please never mention that again,” Bellamy says, grimacing. “It wasn’t my fault her dad Jason was practically threatening to fire me if I didn’t date her.”

            “My point is, if your friendship can survive that, and all the other horrible fights and traumas you’ve gone through together, I think it can survive this, too. But you can’t go on like this forever, Blake. If you love her, you’ve got to tell her.”

            Bellamy sighs heavily, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “I hate being this scared of it.”

            “Hey, that’s okay. Feelings are fucking terrifying, and I’ve been to _space_. But you’re brave, okay? You can do it.”

            She wraps her arm around his neck and he reciprocates, resting his head on her shoulder and letting himself cry a little more, taking the comfort before he draws away. “Thanks, Raven. For threatening to kill me, I mean.”

            She smirks. “Love you, too, Bellamy.”

            He nods, smiling a little, and she lets herself out, leaving Bellamy to his thoughts.

 

The party at Bellamy’s apartment is not actually his idea; it’s Raven’s, probably because she has an agenda and that involves giving him every opportunity possible to tell Clarke the truth. He appreciates it, but he doesn’t know if he can tell Clarke during something public, or even right after; he wants to be prepared, organized, and alone with her, so there’s no scene.

            There’s also no alcohol present, which he appreciates; he’s so constantly about to burst with his feelings lately, he worries just one swig of alcohol will send them all pouring out.

            Clarke’s one of the last people to show up – being her late self as always – but she does arrive with a bag of chips and some salsa, so Bellamy is willing to forgive her. She also greets him by stretching on her toes to give him a kiss, so he doesn’t have the brain capacity to feel anything negative about her anyway.

            Everyone digs into the food immediately, then after a stupidly long time debating what game to play, they settle for HedBanz. Bellamy is horrible at it unless Clarke’s the one giving him the clues, so whenever it’s his turn everyone silently prays the die will land on Clarke’s.

            At the end of one of his turns, as he’s putting a new card in the headband, everyone stars murmuring conspiratorially and he frowns. “What?”

            “Nothing,” they all chorus, even though they’re grinning devilishly.

            “Does it say dildo or something?” Bellamy asks Clarke, who’s tucked against his side. “I thought this was a family-friendly game.”

            “No, Bellamy, it does not say dildo.”

            “Then what?”

            “Well, I can’t _tell_ you, it’s against the rules. You’ll just have to guess.”

            “Hopefully I get you on the dice role then.”

            She blushes a little, which is weird. “Yeah, hopefully.”

            They go around the circle again – Bellamy spends the entire time trying to get Miller to guess helicopter and the closest he gets is ceiling fan – and when it’s Bellamy’s turn, he reaches for the die only for Raven to grab it from him.

            “Hey, it’s my—”

            “Sorry, I’m rolling for you this time,” Raven says, then just turns the die to Clarke’s color and sets it down. “Hey, look, you got Clarke, how wild. Okay, guess on.”

            Bellamy gives her a weird look, but it’s not like he minds being paired with Clarke, so he just shrugs and turns to Clarke. “Ready?”

            She nods and slips from his side. “Ready.” Then she flips over the timer and drops to one knee next to the couch, miming holding something in her hands.

            This one’s easy, of course, but Bellamy decides to draw it out a little. “Engagement ring?”

            Clarke gestures to her whole self and mimes saying some big speech.

            “Fiancé?” he guesses, smirking.

            She grunts and mimes pulling out the ring, then gestures from herself to him.

            “Okay, okay, fine. Proposal.”

            “Yes, _finally_ ,” Clarke says.

            “He said yes!” Raven cries excitedly, and everyone claps; Bellamy’s going to roll his eyes, but then Clarke smirks a little and suddenly she’s surging upwards to kiss him, hands holding his face.

            He’s too stunned to reply, just sort of puts his hand at her side; she pulls back a moment later amidst whoops and hollers. “It’s official, everyone,” she declares.

            Bellamy’s bright red by this point, but he plays along, holding up his hand to show off the nonexistent ring. “Can’t believe she beat me to it, but at least it’s pretty.”

            “Yeah, yeah, you guys are cute, whatever,” Miller says. “Your timer ran out, so sit down.”

            Clarke sticks her tongue out at him, but obediently curls back up against Bellamy’s side. He tucks his arm around her shoulder and tries his hardest not to lick his lips, or to turn her chin so he can kiss her again, even if that would probably be acceptable. If he kisses her on her own right now, he might not be able to stop himself from doing it later on, too. He’s strong, in terms of self-control, but not that strong.

            They switch games soon after that – apparently a proposal makes everything else seem less exciting – and Clarke starts getting sleepy, letting him play her turns in Clue so she can lay her head in his lap and get her hair played with instead.

            “No fair, that gives Bellamy double the knowledge the rest of us have,” Monty complains.

            Bellamy shrugs. “Tell your girlfriend to get sleepy, then.”

            Monty looks to Harper, but she shakes her head. “No way. I’m winning this thing.”

            Clarke whines a little in protest that Bellamy is no longer petting her hair, and he says something about her being obnoxiously needy, but he scratches at her scalp all the same.

            Bellamy does in fact win the game, which makes everyone annoyed, and he gives half his credit to Clarke for her ‘generous contributions to the Bellamy Blake fund.’

            “Yeah, I’m sure she’s made _many_ generous contributions,” Jasper smirks, and Bellamy flushes. He hates when his friends make sex jokes about them. Not only does it make Clarke uncomfortable, shown by the way she tenses beside him, but it makes the whole _don’t think about how much you want to have sex with Clarke and get married to her and have kids and dogs and stray cats who come by and you pretend not to love them but buy them food and toys anyway_ thing a lot harder to ignore.

            Clarke is a lot better at running with the punches though; she just shrugs nonchalantly and says, “All anonymous, of course,” before kissing him on the cheek, awfully close to his jaw, and starts cleaning up the board.

 

They kiss two more times before everyone starts heading out; once because Clarke beat him in Mario Kart – by basically cheating, he might add, that stupid blue shell isn’t fair at all – and he pouted so she kissed him to make him feel better, and once because Bellamy beat her and he got a little excited and just kind of smacked her on the mouth. She laughed it off, though, so hopefully she was cool with it.

            As everyone leaves, Bellamy starts to reach for Clarke’s bag, but she shakes her head slightly. “I was gonna stay a little later, if that’s all right.”

            Harper smirks a little as she passes, and Bellamy is reminded of their position. “Course it’s all right. I was just going to move this out of the way.”

            She smiles softly, crumpling up the empty chip bag to throw away and putting the leftover salsa in the fridge while Bellamy says goodbye to everyone.

            When the door closes for the last time and he turns, feeling a little anxious now that they’re alone, she’s right there, wrapping her arms around his waist and tucking her face into his neck.

            “Uh,” he says, returning the hug on instinct. “What’s this for?”

            She lifts her head a little so he can hear her as she says, “I just like being able to hang out with you.”

            He laughs gently. “Did the last, like, four hours not count?”

            “You know what I mean. Just the two of us. You and me.”

            “Yeah, you and me,” Bellamy agrees; he kisses her hair without thinking, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “What do you want to do?”

            “Well, we’re all out of TV shows to binge unless we want to start something new, and we’ve played a lot of games, and I don’t really want to commit to a full movie right now, so maybe we can…I don’t know, just sit? Enjoy the company?”

            That actually sounds really nice right now, albeit a little terrifying considering how attuned Bellamy is to his desire to make out with Clarke and how very alone they are, so he just agrees and slowly pulls away so they can walk to the couch.

            For a while, they do just sit; they don’t talk, they don’t play anything, they barely even touch apart from Clarke’s arm against his and her head on his shoulder. It’s comforting, knowing how easily they can exist in each other’s presence without needing to be actively doing something, how just the sound of their breath going in and out is enough for them. He fucking loves this girl.

            Clarke picks up his hand after a while, tracing the lines on his palm silently. He’s gotten comfortable enough with her touch he doesn’t even flinch at the contact, but he does jump a little when she turns his hand over and then lifts it to press a tiny kiss to his ring finger.

            “Not even wearing it,” she teases, looking up at him. “What was the point of buying such a fancy ring if you won’t show it off?”

            “Maybe you got the wrong size,” Bellamy says, smirking. “Don’t hold my hand enough to know how big my finger is.”

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes, and leans in to kiss him.

            _Kiss him._

            On the _mouth_.

            While they’re _alone._

            _Clarke._

_KISSES HIM._

            She pulls away half a second later, looking horrified. “Shit.”

            “Uh….” Bellamy says, not sure what he can do that won’t fuck this up one way or another.

            “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I—uh, it was instinct. Sorry.”

            Bellamy considers her wide eyes, her slightly parted lips, and most of all her hand, which she hasn’t moved from his. She’s waiting for his reaction before she pulls away, and as stupid as it is, he doesn’t want her to. The lines have blurred between the pretend and the genuine, and he doesn’t care anymore what side he’s on. He just wants her.

            So instead of brushing away her apology and moving on, instead of pulling away, he says, “Kiss me more.”

            Clarke’s eyes go wide. “What?”

            The panic starts to return, but Bellamy fights for control. “I mean, it’s good practice, right? And kissing you is—kissing is fun, and I don’t…you know, mind, I guess. So, why not?” He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. God, why is he so bad at communication?

            Clarke stares at him for a moment longer before she says, slow and careful, “So you…you think it’d be a good idea, to kiss more?”

            The words catch in Bellamy’s throat, too true to be spoken, so he just nods, and in the next moment Clarke’s mouth is on his.

            It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, but it _feels_ like it—there’s no one watching, no one to prove or to please; no one except Clarke, at least. When she puts her hand in his hair, carding her fingers through the curls, it feels like it’s because she just wants to, no because she’s supposed to put on a show.

            And God, Clarke’s a good kisser. Bellamy considers himself fairly experienced in this department, but the way she draws out every movement out like she can’t get enough, one moment unbearably slow and the next sloppy and rushed, leaves him shaking a little. He moves his hands a lot, trying to hide his nervousness and just how fucking wrecked she makes him just by kissing—first on her shoulders, then her neck, her waist, his fingers barely trailing over the bare skin peeking out from her shirt.

            Clarke seems to like this, if the way she arches towards him a little is any indication, so he experimentally slips a hand under the material to feel her bare skin, and she kisses him harder, surer of herself.

            The angle is starting to get a little awkward with them side-by-side on the couch, though, so hesitantly he grips her thigh and pulls a little in encouragement. Immediately, Clarke swings her leg over to sit in his lap; they take a moment to breathe while she gets comfortable, which is hard because Bellamy’s breath hitches every time she shifts the tiniest bit.

            Faintly, he wonders if this is really happening. It doesn’t seem possible, but he’s not sure he could conjure his up in a dream.

            Clarke sees him staring and smiles shyly, setting her hands on his shoulders. “Hi.”

            “Hi,” he replies, careful not to touch her yet, just in case. He knows how people can get caught up, go farther than they meant, and then regret it later. He doesn’t want that for them.

            She swallows hard, then lifts one hand to cup his cheek, looking at him with a soft but serious expression. “This is going to sound like the worst timing in the history of the world, but you’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

            Normally, hearing the phrase _friend_ from someone Bellamy is desperately in love with when they’ve been making out would not exactly be his favorite thing, but he gets what she means. No matter what this is – because they both know this isn’t just practice – whether it’s well-timed horniness or pent-up sexual tension or something more, what matters most is who they are to each other, and that will never change. Bellamy knows he will always love Clarke like she’s part of his soul, and against all odds, he knows she feels the same.

            “I know,” he whispers. “You’re my best friend, too.”

            She smiles in that sort of way that makes Bellamy’s throat clog up with happy tears and leans down to kiss him again. She sets the pace slow, and Bellamy doesn’t mind at all; it’s the comforting kind of slow, that makes it feel like there’s no rush, no fear. He slips his hands under her shirt to stroke her back, which she definitely enjoys because she sighs into his mouth, tugging at his hair a little before soothing it with her fingertips.

            When she pulls away to breathe, Bellamy can’t help but keep kissing her, peppering his lips across her cheek and jaw before pausing at her neck, unsure if she’s okay with this when it’s not for their previous…purpose.

            “You’re good,” she whispers, rather breathily.

            He nods slightly and works his way to a spot under her jaw he remembers her being rather eager about; she sighs in pleasure and strokes his hair, so he starts sucking at the skin there, pressing his hands firmly against her back to keep her close. Clarke’s responding mewls make him shiver with want, but this is about her right now, and he loves making her this way—his Clarke, so stubborn and tough, melted like putty under his ministrations.

            When the mark is fully formed, he takes his time kissing down her neck, liking how she keeps a firm grip on his hair to keep him close, how he can feel every shiver running down her spine against his fingertips. At her throat, though, he pauses, because he sees it then—the fading red hickey, _his_ hickey, the one he almost lost his mind giving her.

            It could expose him, but he’s too love-drunk to care, so he presses a tiny kiss to the mark and, with his lips still touching skin, whispers, “That’s mine.”

            He can not only hear but feel Clarke’s low groan against her throat, and then she’s tugging him up harshly to seal her mouth over his. The slowness is all gone now; she kisses him like there’s not enough time in the world to do as much as she wants, even if they did this forever. He feels the same – God, he could hold her the rest of his life and still die wishing he had a few moments more – and he tries to express it the best he can, this need for her, for this _something_. Her t-shirt bunches in his hands as he hikes it up, curling it into his fist for a moment while he slips his tongue into her mouth; she grinds down on him a little and his hands spasm, which she must find amusing, because she pulls away with a smirk.

            “You okay if I take this off?” she asks, reaching for her own shirt hem.

            “Jesus, you’re so polite sometimes,” he teases. “No, I don’t mind if you take your fucking shirt off, Clarke.”

            She rolls her eyes. “I’m just checking. Consent is important, Blake.” But she doesn’t seem annoyed, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because when she pulls off her shirt and tosses it aside, all Bellamy can do is stare.

            God, she’s so _beautiful_. Sexy, absolutely – with those perfect boobs in that dark blue bra and that soft stomach and the way she looks at him, all smirking confidence – but just…it’s like every inch of her screams again to him how much he loves this girl. How strong she is, how brave, how fierce, how kind, and how much he wants to fall asleep and wake up beside her every night he has left.

            Clarke must sense something more than just hormone-induced staring, because she starts to blush. “What?”

            “Nothing,” Bellamy says, though he can’t get his voice to sound anything less than awed. “You’re just…well.”

            “Yeah, I’ve been told,” she replies, smiling, and leans in to kiss him again.

            Eventually they get to the bedroom, and out of their clothes. Seeing Clarke like that – uncovered and open and completely vulnerable, all for _him_ – is too much for Bellamy, and he can’t help but plant kisses on every inch of skin he can. Clarke encourages him with breathy sighs and her fingers fluttering over his shoulder blades, but when he gets to the swell of her stomach, her breathing falters, and he pauses.

            The air is still for a moment; not quite awkward, but still heavy and charged. An in-between.

            “I’ve got you,” Bellamy whispers. “If you want me to.”

            She nods, winding her fingers into his hair shakily, and closes her eyes. “I want you to.”

            When he puts his mouth on her, she moans and tightens her grip, but after that he’s so overwhelmed with the feeling of it, of _them_ , that he barely hears the noises she makes, barely registers the sharp tug of her hands on her hair, barely even registers she’s come until she’s pulling him back up to slot her mouth over his.

            “Good?” he manages to ask between kisses, worried again.

            She laughs, pulling back to raise an eyebrow at him. “I think the orgasm should’ve told you that.”

            He blushes a little despite himself. “Okay, okay. I’m just checking.”

            “You’re cute,” she teases, brushing his heating cheeks with the backs of her fingers, and he hides the deepening color in her neck.

            They stay like that for a moment, Bellamy hovering over her with his nose in her hair, until his arms start to tremble a little with the effort. Clarke presses down on his back to get him to lay flat, but he resists, mumbling, “I’ll crush you.”

            “Oh, shut up, you’ll fallen asleep on top of me before. Remember when I had to crash at your place and you rolled over me in your sleep?”

            “That was a _slightly_ different context, Clarke,” he points out, but he obediently lets his weight drop onto her entirely.

            For a few seconds it’s relaxing, Clarke stroking light circles into his back and their breaths nearly in sync, but the press of skin on skin everywhere quickly makes Bellamy dizzy, and he can’t help but press tiny kisses to her neck up to the curve of her jaw. She purrs at the attention, but soon it’s not enough for her, either, and then she’s drawing his mouth back to hers; one hand cups his cheek gently while the other strokes meaningless patterns into the small of his back.

            Somehow, this wrecks Bellamy even more than the sex part, just them kissing lazily in bed like a couple. It almost makes him want to cry, but he doesn’t want to break the moment, and he’s not ready to explain how kissing her could make him sad, so instead he kisses her a little harder, rising onto his elbows again for a better angle.

            Clarke’s hands slide feverishly up and down his back and ass, fingernails digging into his skin when he rolls her bottom lip between his teeth, and she breathes, “I—I need—”

            Just those two words make Bellamy’s vision go black for a second, but he manages to reply hoarsely, “I’ve got you. What do you need?”

            “You,” she whispers, and she must feel the shiver that runs down his back. “All of you.”

            He pulls back to see her face and this, he thinks, may be what kills him—Clarke staring up at him, open and nervous but still sure, hands still pressing into his back and skin flushed. Needing him.

            It’s too much to process, so he just stares; he stares so long Clarke frowns and pinches him a little. “Bellamy? You with me?”

            He shakes his head a little. “Sorry. I was just trying to process this is….” _Real,_ he thinks, but that word feels too charged, too close, so he says, “happening,” instead.

            She grunts. “Well, it’s not right _now_ , unless you get a move on.”

            Bellamy rolls his eyes, muttering about how bossy she is, and it earns him a swat on the ass as he reaches for the package of condoms in the nightstand.

            The mood shifts again when they get going; the rhythm is slow but a little messy with both of them shaking, and Clarke presses their foreheads together so they share every breath. A tear rolls down Bellamy’s cheek at one point, but Clarke doesn’t say anything, just wipes it away and holds him a little closer.

            They stay that way until the very end—hearts beating too fast, bodies shaking, looking at each other like the moment will crumble to dust if they look away. Together.

 

Bellamy wakes up with hair in his face, which confuses him for a second, since his hair is nowhere near long enough to be getting in his mouth. Then he realizes who the hair’s attached to, sees whose body is splayed across the bed next to him, and his soul disconnects from his body for, like, half a second.

            God, last night actually _happened_. He had sex with Clarke Griffin, kind of platonically, who he also wants to have sex with all the time, kind of not platonically. It was new, and overwhelming, and wonderful.

            And she’s still _here_.

            Slowly, she pushes her hair over her shoulder so he can get a better look at her face, which is half hidden by the pillow. This moment feels vastly different than the last time she slept here, and yet vastly the same—there’s no difference in the soft way his heart turns over looking at her.

            Though there is a slight difference, he’ll admit, in the images that rise in his mind when he catches sight of the bruises under her jaw and peeking out from her collarbone, because now they’re _real_. Possible, even.

            After a moment, he shakes her shoulder softly, and she stirs, blinking in confusion for a moment before her eyes meet his. Her expression melts into a shy but genuine smile, and Bellamy’s heart turns instantly to putty.

            “Hey,” she says, soft as a feather touching the ground.

            “Hey,” he says back. He really wants to kiss her, but he’s still so worried about boundaries—now that the night of ‘practice’ is over, are they back to just friends? How much affection can he risk without her knowing the truth before he’s ready to tell her?

            She saves him the trouble by leaning over to kiss his cheek, then slumps back into the pillow and says, “I want pancakes.”

            He scoffs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I ran a bed and breakfast.”

            She shrugs without lifting her head, her muffled voice making out something like _you bang ‘em, you feed ‘em_ , which makes Bellamy laugh even if it also makes his face hot with embarrassment.

            They don’t have any pancake batter, and he doesn’t love Clarke enough to make some from scratch at this hour (kidding, but also, he really doesn’t want to) so he makes eggs and toast instead.

            It’s all going fine, too, until Clarke walks in halfway through the ordeal wearing just one of his shirts, at which point he slips and burns himself on the pan.

            “Shit,” he hisses, dropping the spatula to put his hand under some cold water.

            Clarke comes up behind him, tutting, “Clumsy, clumsy Bellamy.”

            He glares at her. “It’s not _my_ fault.”

            She shrugs innocently, but it makes the shirt hike up higher and he really doesn’t have time for the urge to make out with her, so he starts to turn back to the food, but Clarke stops him with a gentle hand on his arm. He hesitates a moment, but he’s never known how to say no to this woman; sighing, he turns back around and meets her gaze.

            “We good?” she asks; her tone is casual, but her eyebrows are too furrowed, and the muscles in her jaw are tight.

            Feeling a little guilty, he nods. “Yeah. Course we are.”

            “Okay,” she says, but she still sounds a little unsure, so impulsively Bellamy leans down to peck her on the mouth.

            “Stop worrying, Clarke. We’re good.”

            She smiles a little and reaches to kiss his cheek, surer this time. “Okay.”

 

One day, when it’s cold enough for Bellamy’s hands to go numb if he’s outside longer than fifteen minutes, Clarke shows up to his apartment looking oddly excited.

            “Bellamy,” she says, holding up her phone, “they have _ice skating_ opening this week.”

            “Okay,” he says. He never did any ice skating when he was little, and even now he’s gone maybe twice, but he knows Clarke took lessons a while back and is pretty good at it. “You want to go?”

            “We have to, Bellamy. They’re going to put the lights up for Christmas the same week. It’s going to be beautiful.”

            “Like you,” he says reflexively, and she mimes gagging at his weak compliment. “Hey, don’t be mean.”

            “It’s like sixty percent of my personality, so no.”

            Bellamy just rolls his eyes, because this is the least true thing in the world—Clarke may be stubborn and overly honest sometimes, but she is rarely mean. In fact, she picked him up when his car broke down last week, and a few days later helped Harper out with an issue with her thesis paper for two hours (Bellamy’s only gripe on that one was she had been paying him a lot of attention before the call, but she gave him extra afterwards to apologize, so it was worth it). Hell, she got him through the few years where his little sister hated him and his whole world started to fall apart, and without ever asking for anything back.

            She’s the best person he knows, and he doesn’t believe he’ll ever find someone better. He doesn’t want to, either—every flaw she has just makes her more Clarke, more perfectly aligned with all his own dark parts, and so even when they yell at each other or she does something that makes him grind his teeth in frustration, he never wants to take any of it back.

            _Anyway_ , sappiness aside, they plan for Thursday evening to get dinner and go ice skating. The day in question isn’t too cold despite being early December, so they decide to just walk to the restaurant, a laid-back local burger joint Clarke would probably cut off a finger for. She orders a bacon cheeseburger with fries _and_ a milkshake, because she’s like that, and convinces Bellamy to get a panini instead of a salad because “for the love of all that’s holy, Bellamy, we get it, you’re hot and fit, now eat some fucking carbs.”

            Bellamy thinks she really just wanted more fries on the table, because as soon as she’s plowed through hers – at a startlingly fast rate for someone who’s not that big, he might add – she starts reaching for his.

            “Hey, quit it,” he says, slapping her hand away for the third time. “You have your own.”

            “ _Had_ ,” she corrects. “And I’m still hungry.”

            “You have half the burger left!”

            “I want fries though.”

            “Well, it’s not my fault you didn’t plan accordingly,” he says, but it’s not like he’s actually going to _stop_ her, so he just lets his eyes wander away whenever she reaches for his plate.

            Just to make it even, he takes random sips of her milkshake – he can have a sweet tooth sometimes, too, all right? Just because he wants to eat healthy doesn’t mean he eats nothing but greens, no matter what Clarke says – and she similarly grumbles but doesn’t stop him.

            When it comes to pay for it, they fight a little about who should take the check – Clarke wants to take it because her meal was more expensive and she voted they have this night out, while Bellamy votes he should take it since he wanted to eat out – but finally decide to take separate checks and pay for the other’s as a compromise.

            They sit outside the restaurant before they walk to the rink so their food babies will dwindle a little, Clarke resting her hand near his, and when they get up she intertwines their fingers like they’ve done it a million times—which they sort of have, but never so clearly away from the prying eyes of their friends.

            At this point, Bellamy realizes they’re sort of on a _date_ —like a real, planned, found-it-on-Pinterest date. It throws him a little, which is maybe weird considering they’ve literally had sex (another fact that throws him), but it just feels so…normal. So not part of practice for a fake relationship, or part of a normal platonic relationship. So close to what he wants them to be all the time.

            (There’s this small part of Bellamy that knows this isn’t just some fake thing to convince Gina anymore, and it hasn’t been for a long time, but if he stops calling it that, he has to call it something else, and he doesn’t know what it is yet. He’s scared to know what they’ll be without this protective coating to everything they do, if they’ll be anything at all.)

            Despite the undertone of anxiety that accompanies such easy affection between them, Bellamy can’t help but smile as they walk with their arms swinging a little, Clarke leaning into him only half for warmth, them both testing the coldness of the air with their breath. No matter what they are, he knows it’s good.

            The moment Bellamy puts on his skates and gets onto the rink, he remembers how bad he is at this. He slips immediately, having to grab onto the edge for purchase so he doesn’t fall onto his face; meanwhile, Clarke slides past him smugly.

            “We should’ve done football or something,” Bellamy grumbles as she circles around the rink and back to him without faltering at all. “Then I could’ve tackled you for being such a jerk.”

            “Excuse me, I have done nothing wrong,” she says, coming to a stop to raise an eyebrow at him. “It’s not my fault you have the skating skills of a four-year-old without a box to hold onto.”

            “Yeah, but you could _help_.”

            “Yeah, yeah, all right,” she says. “If it makes you happy.”

            She maneuvers to his side and hooks his arm over her shoulder, wrapping her arm around his waist. “Okay, just focus on your balance. Don’t try to be fancy.”

            He really does try, but it’s hard to balance on someone who’s a head shorter than you, and he’s so bad at skating. They have to stay by the edge of the rink and just circle around slowly, so whenever Bellamy starts to slip he can grab the edge instead of pulling Clarke down with him.

            There aren’t a lot of people there since it’s a Thursday night, which Bellamy appreciates. They can circle the rink with the twinkling lights in trees all around them in relative quiet, slowly building up his confidence until he can go to the middle—as long as he’s still hanging onto Clarke, at least.

            By now, though, it’s been like a solid forty-five minutes without annoying Clarke, which is absolutely unacceptable, so Bellamy starts to purposefully lean into her as if he’s falling even though he’s stable. She threatens to let him fall when he does it a fourth time, but it’s not needed, because on the fifth time he leans harder than he intended and neither of them are able to regain their balance; they fall onto the ice in a tangle of limbs and annoyed grunts, Bellamy on top of Clarke.

            “I fucking hate you,” she mutters. Her nose is crinkled up in annoyance, but it just makes her look cuter, paired with the hat pulled down low over her face and her red cheeks and the little bits of white shining in her hair.

            “Nah, you don’t,” Bellamy says; he intends it to be teasing, but he’s sort of distracted by how pretty Clarke looks. Without thinking much of it, he leans down and kisses her softly, cold lips warming upon contact. She kisses him back, gloved hand coming up to touch his cheek briefly, before he pulls back and helps her up (or, really, her helping him up, but whatever).

            Her cheeks are definitely redder now, and he can’t help but grin at the sight. “See? You don’t hate me.”

            A tiny smile tugs at Clarke’s mouth, but there’s something in her eyes; something far-away and yet nearly close enough to touch. Something almost sad. “I guess not.”

            Bellamy swallows down the confession he’s been so close to sharing for ages now, fear getting the best of him again. Instead, he holds out his hand and says, “Shall we?”

            She takes it, squeezing tightly. “We shall.”

 

When they get back to Bellamy’s apartment, they change into dry clothes (Clarke steals another one of his shirts to wear with her pajama pants because she _knows_ he’s weak) and curl up on the couch with a blanket to warm up.

            Bellamy wants to kiss her, like always, but she feels just a little distant, and he doesn’t want to push anything, so he just strokes her arm and touches his chin to her hair until she lifts her head to initiate the kiss herself.

            It’s soft, almost unbearably so; she holds his cheeks in her hands delicately, moving her lips slowly against his as he holds her waist and matches the softness. She moves to his lap, but it feels more for comfort than sexual prowess; there’s no grinding, no moans, no kissing anywhere but their mouths. Nothing but this slow, deeply intense trade-off between them, back and forth.

            A few minutes in, Bellamy tastes salt on Clarke’s lips, and he pulls back, immediately worried; sure enough, a couple of tears are slowly sliding down Clarke’s cheeks.

            “Clarke?” he whispers, not sure what to say. Panic builds in his chest, that he’s done this, that something’s happened, that she’s hurting and he hasn’t noticed. “Clarke, what is it?”

            She wipes the tears with the back of her hand, a little wonderingly, and says, “It’s not about you, Bellamy.”

            But she doesn’t sound sure, and the anxiety builds in Bellamy’s throat. “Clarke, if something’s wrong, if I did something, _please_ —”

            “You didn’t do anything,” she says, voice stronger now, and sets her hands on his shoulders. “I promise, it’s not you. I just….” She falters, then just lets the sentence hang there, unfinished.

            “Do you…do you want to talk about it?”

            Clarke considers this for a few moments, scanning his face, then slowly shakes her head. “Not yet. Not tonight.”

            He thinks of all the things he wants to say to Clarke, how it never feels like the right time. He understands her worry, but even if he didn’t, he would never push her to share something that makes her so uneasy. That’s the last thing he wants, to hurt her.

            “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

            She smiles uncertainly at him, so he leans in to kiss her cheek, lingering. She rubs his shoulders, signaling she’s okay, so he kisses the other cheek, then her forehead, her nose, her jaw, her eyelids, everywhere on her face until she’s smiling again. Then she captures his lips with hers again, more confident than before, sliding her fingers into his hair like she always loves to.

            Bellamy strokes up and down her back and thighs, trying to express everything he doesn’t know how to say—trying to let her know it’s going to be okay, because they have each other.

            He feels something in the way she kisses him, too, like she’s promising him something; he doesn’t know what, but he feels his heart soften all the same.

            Clarke doesn’t have work until the afternoon, and Bellamy’s heart tugs at the thought of her leaving, so she stays the night. They don’t have sex, but Bellamy doesn’t mind in the slightest; he curls around Clarke’s body, arm thrown across her waist, and she tangles her fingers with his.

            “Good night,” she whispers, almost like a confession.

            “Good night,” he replies, kissing her hair, and it feels like a confession of his own.

 

There are still moments in the next few weeks where Clarke gets a little sad or distant, but for the most part she’s as loving and eager and Clarke as ever. They fall into a perfect rhythm, alternating whose apartment they go to and planning with roommates to try to be alone when they can and doing stuff whenever they’re both off work (yes, like dates).

            It’s awesome, and natural, and fucking overwhelming. They’ve been doing everything he’s ever wanted except expressing his love for her, and that should make it easier to tell her, but somehow it makes it so much harder. If he tells her and she doesn’t feel the same, if this is just practice to her or she doesn’t want to be committed or whatever, he could lose everything. Not just the sex or the kissing or the dates, but _Clarke_ , and now he knows more than ever how much of his heart is dedicated to her.

            Still, he always enjoys their time together, whether they’re staying in or going on a walk or splurging to try a good dessert shop Clarke heard about. One time, when he goes over to her apartment, she had even bought _salad_ for them to eat. He nearly cries, but also low-key worries she’s been replaced by a robot until he sees she also bought a giant bag of his favorite dark chocolate for “whenever the craving hits.” Which is apparently often, because she’s already eaten like ten.

            Another time, Bellamy is laying on the couch after work when Clarke gets there, and instead of waiting him for sit up, she just sighs dramatically and flops directly on top of him. He thinks she’ll get up after a second, but she doesn’t, and within fifteen minutes she’s fallen asleep. He just chuckles at her ridiculousness and keeps his arm around her so she doesn’t fall off, laying there until she wakes up a few hours later, complaining that she’s hungry and he’s an uncomfortable bed.

            And at New Year’s Eve, Clarke shows up to the party with her hair cut in this little bob with the ends dyed pink, and Bellamy can’t stop playing with it the whole time. He also very much appreciates how it exposes her neck more, and they end up finding an empty room so he can give it the proper attention it deserves, almost missing the drop in the process.

            When they come back in the main room with thirty seconds of the year left and Clarke looking extra flushed, everyone rolls their eyes while Raven shakes her head slowly, looking torn between laughing and wringing their necks. She’s given up trying to talk Bellamy into telling Clarke, at least on her time, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t spend every moment she’s around them annoyed at their stupidity.

            Which is fair, he gets that, but if she wanted a relationship that made any sense, she shouldn’t have voted for him and Clarke. They are the fucking worst at feelings, or making sense in general.

 

Nearly six months after the day Bellamy asked Clarke to fill in as his fake girlfriend, she sends him a text saying, _come over now if u can pls. i really have to talk to u about something._

            Doing his best not to panic, Bellamy hurries over to Clarke’s apartment, and lets himself in (she’s expecting him, and he has a key anyways, from one too many times of Clarke needing him to grab her something she forgot). Clarke’s waiting for him in the doorway, looking nervous.

            “Okay, I’m here,” he says carefully. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

            “Well, to settle your rampant worry-wart tendencies, no one has died or gotten sick, I’m not moving, I don’t suddenly hate you or think you did something horrible, and I still have my job.”

            Damn, she reads him like a book sometimes. “That’s good. But…still bad news?”

            She shrugs. “I don’t think so? I hope not. I don’t know, it’s just news.”

            Clarke fidgets a lot when she’s nervous, and right now she’s practically vibrating, so Bellamy has them sit down to try to alleviate a little bit of that. Also, he wants to be ready for whatever she has to tell him, even if it’s apparently not life or death.

            “So,” she starts. “The cat’s out of the bag.”

            Maybe this is the worst or stupidest thing Bellamy’s done yet, but it takes him a full ten seconds to realize what she’s talking about; to remember they’ve been kind of lying to their friends for six months. “Gina,” he says finally.

            Clarke nods. “I guess Raven was drunk and ranted about the whole thing to Gina while she was on the clock. She called me on her break to ask if it was true.”

            “I’m assuming you told her the truth.”

            “Yeah. I don’t know if that was right, to tell her without your permission, but I was just tired of lying.”

            Bellamy tries not to let that comment sit uncomfortably in his chest. “How angry was she?”

            “Honestly? Not really. She was more just…confused. Both that we did it in the first place and also that we kept it up so long. She said….” She drifts off, then says instead, “But, uh, I guess that wraps that all up. We can, you know…stop faking now.”

            She glances at him and suddenly, for no reason at all except for the softness in her eyes and the nervous hope in her gaze, telling her is the easiest thing in the world. “I already did,” he says softly. “Long before we even started this thing.”

            Clarke’s eyes widen, and a dopey grin follows soon after. “Oh, thank _God_. I was going to strangle you if you were really that good of an actor. Or ask you to try out for Broadway.” She hesitates, then adds, “You really liked me that long?”

            “Clarke, I’ve liked you for six years.”

            “Jesus,” she says. “Only you would hold onto a crush that long. And I thought I was stupid for just having a crush on you for one year.”

            “Don’t worry, you’re still stupid,” Bellamy says, a stupid grin of his own quickly taking over his whole face.

            She rolls her eyes, then takes his hand and says softer, “When you asked me to fake being your girlfriend, a big part of me said not to do it, that it was the stupidest thing in the world to fake date the guy I wanted to _real_ date. But I thought maybe my feelings would…I don’t know, dilute if I went on a date with you, knowing it was fake. Convince myself it was whatever and move on.”

            “Okay, yeah, you’re definitely still stupid, because that’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard of.”

            “Hey, you’re the one who picked me despite an apparent six year crush!” she protests. “And anyway, I knew in my heart it was all just a ruse. I wanted to be yours, even if it was all pretend.”

            “Yeah, me too.”

            She snorts. “You know, sometimes you and I are just a little too similar. If we weren’t such fucking idiots, we could’ve been _actually_ dating six months ago.”

            “Who says we weren’t?” Bellamy says, shrugging. “I’m counting it, at least.”

            “Makes it easier on all our friends, at least. No need to expose the scandal if it resolves itself.”

            Bantering with Clarke is fun and all, but Bellamy is also literally about to burst with the desire to kiss her – his _girlfriend_ – so instead of replying, he pulls her towards him and seals his mouth over hers. It’s messy to say the least, what with their dumb grins and general excitement making their accuracy absolute shit, but Bellamy has probably never loved a kiss more.

            “You kiss like it’s your first time,” he teases when their teeth clack for the third time.

            “It’s always the first time with you,” she replies easily. “That’s why I love you.”

            Bellamy’s heart kicks in his chest a little, but honestly, he already knew. Maybe he always has. “I love you, too.”

            “Good,” she says, stroking his cheek gently even as she hauls herself into his lap, eager as always. “That’s good.”

 

They do eventually tell their friends about the whole thing, half because they feel guilty and half because looking back, it is the funniest and stupidest fucking thing ever. Their friends all agree about the stupid part at least—especially Raven, who literally cries when they tell her they’re officially dating because “I was _this fucking close_ to breaking every friendship rule in the book and swapping your diaries so you’d know the truth. God, I fucking hate you guys sometimes. Come here.”

            Clarke also moves into his apartment a few months later, which isn’t a particularly huge gesture considering she practically lived there even before their whole debacle. She still steals his clothes all the time, and he still tuts whenever she tries to claim eating a family-sized bag of chips counts as a meal, and they still fight over little things and big things and nothing at all. Nothing has changed, really, and he doesn’t particularly want them to; after all, everything is as it should be.

            At least, until he’s saved enough for a ring.

**Author's Note:**

> Pls kudos and comment if you enjoyed, you have no idea how much it boosts my spirit <3
> 
> @ringsabellamy on tumblr | @bella_my_clarke on twitter


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